


on what comes after

by ThunderPhang



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Character Study, Discussion of Death and What Comes After, Drabble, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:33:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24478762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThunderPhang/pseuds/ThunderPhang
Summary: Jonah asks Barnabas a question.
Relationships: Barnabas Bennett/Jonah Magnus
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	on what comes after

"Barnabas."

"Yes, dear?"

Barnabas, spectacles resting on the bridge of his nose, brought himself out of his book to acknowledge Jonah, who was curled over his studies, who hoard of knowledge, attention still transfixed on the contents but peering at Barnabas from the corner of his eye. Silence rapidly fell between them, Barnabas expecting, Jonah contemplating, an alien anticipation Barnabas certainly wasn't expecting. He was returning the minimal gaze Jonah sported, but even so, Barnabas' throat became steadily parched, wanting to ask what was the problem, since surely Jonah would've said something by now-

"Are you afraid of death, Barnabas?"

Barnabas paused. It was now, he noticed, the firm grasp Jonah held, fingers clenched around the quill that had stained ink across Jonah's work. In tandem, their eyes flickered to the large black blot of ink, then back to each other. Barnabas corrected his posture, leaning back in his chair while Jonah remained hunched, dark lines of stress framing his otherwise angelic face.

Barnabas hadn't seen this before, and it rendered him unable to speak a word. Anything that formed died in his mouth, wanting to offer reassurance or some such, but given how stern Jonah was, how stagnant the air was, how it silently choked him, Barnabas pursed his lips, wetting them in careful anticipation. Jonah didn't so much as twitch, or dare Barnabas say, even blink. He was expectant of an answer, he always was, and Barnabas would give it to him, as he always did.

And yet, why did it feel like Barnabas was having to drag it from between his teeth?

"Well, yes. I think you would be hard pressed to find any man who was not afraid of the inevitability." Barnabas finally answered, but Jonah did not stop his stare, relentless and cold as it was. It cut through his soul, his being, and Barnabas' free hand curled into a white-knuckled grip without his realisation. More, more, _more-_ he was expecting more, Barnabas stressed, so he continued. "I cannot say that to know what lies beyond death would be of any comfort to me, especially if it would have me leave your side, but it is why we hold faith so steadily in our hearts and minds, is it not?"

Jonah's stare narrowed, predatory. Scanning Barnabas' features, (a small frown, the slight angle to his brows, bright blue eyes watching back expectantly and restlessly) he seemed... almost disappointed with the answer. Barnabas drooped instinctively, and found his fingers flexing across the pages of his book, trying to ground himself with the sensation under his touch.

"I see.” Jonah said, his tone clipping as his attention diverted back to his desk. Barnabas worried the inside of his cheek, chewing on it with his gaze glued to the hardwood under his feet like a child having been reprimanded. it was out of the blue, a bizarre question that in no way was Barnabas equipped to answer, as much as he wanted to, pleaded himself to, but he'd said his piece and he doubted changing his mind would set Jonah's mind at ease.

Barnabas shifted in his lack of comfort, Jonah having returned to his attention, muttering words under his breath as he started the page fresh from the mistake. It did nothing to let Barnabas be at peace, who was squirming to try and return to the tranquil silence, but it quickly became stifling, Barnabas pouring over the same page again and again and again before his eyes fixed back to Jonah. Jonah must've noticed, given how his posture stiffened, fixing his own circular glasses that were sliding from his nose.

"Something the matter?" Jonah asked, knowing full well Barnabas wouldn't be able to spit the words out himself.

Thorns dug into Barnabas' heart, raking against it. He'd provoked some ire in Jonah, and now he himself was the fool for disrupting him.

"Why did you ask?" Barnabas gave finally, voice a low murmur.

Jonah pushed himself back in his seat, tilting his head, "Why did I ask what?"

"Why I was afraid of death." Barnabas supplied, as if it were obvious what they were talking about.

Jonah paused, then breathed a deep sigh, pulling a hand through his mop of blonde hair, scratching his fingers through it. "I dwell on it from time to time," he said simply, but stopped himself, twirling the quill between his fingers before he spoke again. "I wanted to know. that was all."

Death. What lies beyond the cessation of living? cold, desolate wastes? Heaven, Hell and the layers between? People don't often recall the time they are born, so perhaps it will be that oblivion to which people will return. It's a scary thought, Barnabas admitted to himself as he hummed in response. Jonah was curious, so it was fair. why he's asked, though, and why he dwelled on it as he did...

"Are you afraid of death, Jonah?"

Jonah froze, having stepped foot first into a bear trap of his own making, which was reckless of him. Impulsive. He arched his head back, tipping it to rest on the spine of the chair and having his eyes stare up to the ceiling dancing with cobwebs. A heavy silence blanketed the room, though not the oppressive silence that characterised Jonah before. Jonah left his quill in his inkwell, taking his glasses off and folding them away. thinking deeply, given by how he folded his arms tightly around his chest in a half-hug. Barnabas' heart flickered, that perhaps he shouldn't have asked, and left his own curiosity alone, that Jonah would rebuke him, but nothing came.

"It is the world we live in that we are damned by the ephemeral nature of our existence.'' Jonah spoke softly, each word selected with grace that was otherwise neglected in his tense posture; not that Barnabas imagined Jonah was anything short of divinity, given how he was currently framed by the setting sun. "We have been made in the image, the purpose to be born, to fear, and to die. We are not given reprieve, nor mercy, aside from the small comforts we can afford ourselves, that we fight for, and cling to in desperation." He pulled himself forward on his chair again, sparing a small, delicate smile to Barnabas, the smallest hint of fierce light in his eyes, radiant as any flame.

Still, he continued, Jonah picking himself up from the chair to stand behind it in the small study, gaze moving out the window to the streets of Edinburgh, "I do not wish to live in a world that would condemn me to such a fate, Barnabas. I do not wish to grow old..." Jonah trailed off with a punctuated sigh, pushing away from the chair to pace the steady instead, each step bending the wood, it creaking under his weight. "... I do not wish to grow old without having achieved something worthy of legacy. to leave my permanent mark upon the world, to rise above everything that would want me to fear it."

Jonah made his way over to Barnabas' side, slotting onto the armest to loom over him, guiding one of his hands to skirt Barnabas' jaw. Barnabas was thoroughly enraptured, lifting his gaze and smiling so warmly, so proudly, as his book was left aside in favour of trailing a featherlight hand over Jonah's hip, coaxing him into his lap with ease. How blessed they were, on this day.

"So I suppose, in some way, my little moon..." Jonah whispered, barely audibly as he brushed a chaste kiss to Barnabas' lips, fleeting as life was, as the rest of the world was in this tiny corner they'd claimed for themselves.

"I am afraid of failure."


End file.
